


One Good Thing on This Rotten Day

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, M/M, One small description of beating the living crap out of someone, Post-Episode: s17e11 Townhouse Incident, when two Labrador retrievers fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: After the events of "Townhouse Incident," Mike's angry and feeling overwhelmed. A work out will clear his mind, if nothing else.





	One Good Thing on This Rotten Day

Liv gives them a brief rundown of what happened in the house as the EMTs check her for concussion and dab antiseptic onto her cuts. Mike curls his hands into fists in the pockets of his jacket. He wishes, momentarily, that Joe was still alive and Mike could challenge him one-to-one. He wants to leave him bloody and begging for mercy on the street, then show that poor girl a few ways to really make him hurt.

"Hey, Sarge," Carisi says, and his hand on Mike's shoulder snaps him out of his fantasy. "C'mon. Let's go write this up, then drown our sorrows, huh?"

The first few times Mike had witnessed Carisi's kindness, he'd thought it was a trick. No one was that nice just because they could be, especially not when they saw the worst of people every day. But now, having worked with Carisi more, gotten to know him a little, Mike knows it's as genuine as it looks. He wonders how Carisi does it. He wonders if Carisi ever wants to pummel guys like Joe until he's certain the guy's dying from his ribs poking holes in his lungs.

"Probably best not to drink tonight," Mike says, letting Carisi turn him towards an unmarked car. "We don't need to end up in a holding cell for a bar fight."

Carisi chuckles. "You kidding? All three of my sisters owe me back on bailing them out for stupid shit. As long as you look properly sorry, they'll cover you, too."

Mike smiles, amazed at how real it feels. Carisi has that effect on people. "I don't know that I need to indebt myself to your sisters. From what I've heard, it's like making a deal with the witches from _MacBeth_."

"Where hath thou been, sister?" Carisi quotes.

"Killing swine," Mike replies. He shakes his head as they get into the car, Carisi in the driver's seat. "Have you read _MacBeth_ enough to just pull a witches quote out of the air that isn't _double, double_?"

"When your baby brother becomes a cop, you quote the Shakespeare line that gets the most mileage," Carisi says as he starts the car. 

"Isn't one of your sisters younger than you?"

Carisi laughs. "Yeah, but Gina and Teresa granted her honorary big sister status when she was five because it made me mad."

Mike leans his head back against the seat as Carisi starts to maneuver them out of the mess that is all the police vehicles on the block. "I've got a brother." He doesn't know why he says it. He thinks it has something to do with how raw he feels from the day, like he's scraped away all the little tricks he has to keep from getting too personal. "I haven't seen him in awhile. We're not close." He doesn't know if he wants Carisi to ask him why they're not close.

"What's his name?" Carisi asks.

"Matthew."

"Matthew and Michael?"

"My parents wanted us to have good, strong names," Mike says. "Names that would mean something as we got older."

"No offense, Sarge, but they gave you good, boring names."

Mike turns his head and looks at Carisi's profile. He can see the hint of one of Carisi's dimples on his cheek. "That's a funny sentence coming from a guy named after his dad," he says. The dimple deepens, and he feels like he's won something.

"Oh, those are fighting words, Sarge."

"Try me," Mike replies, and the ease of Carisi's laugh makes it possible to close his eyes and let go of a little of his anger.

*

By the time he's done writing up his report from the day, Mike's anger is back in the forefront. Who the fuck did this Joe think he was? Not just to rob this man, but to terrorize his family? To beat a good man half to death because he happened to own the overall chain of supermarkets where he got fired from because of his own bad decisions? Why did he have to make a point of traumatizing a teenage girl along with everything else? 

Mike goes to his locker, planning to grab his uneaten lunch so he can pass it to whoever looks hungry, and he sees his gym bag. His gloves are in there. There's a heavy bag down in the basement. He could really stand to beat the living hell out of something tonight. 

He hands his lunch to the incoming Sergeant, who promises to give it to whoever comes on shift looking like they need it. He takes the stairs down to the basement to give himself a little bit of a warm-up. When he steps into the gym, it's empty, and he sighs in relief. He doesn't need to play nice, doesn't need to stay polite. He can beat the fucking hell out of the heavy bag until he can't feel his legs, and then he can go home and sleep the sleep of the exhausted. 

He strips out of his suit in the locker room off to the left, crumpling it up and jamming it into his bag as he pulls out his gym clothes and shoes and gloves and tape. He stretches a bit before wrapping his hands, just to keep his muscles warm, and he's halfway through wrapping his first hand when Carisi walks into the locker room with his own gym bag and comes up short at the sight of him. 

Mike considers asking him to leave but rejects the idea almost as quickly. The gym's for everyone, even if Mike doesn't want to share it.

Carisi goes to a locker halfway down the row and opens it. He takes a hanger from his gym bag and lays it on the bench. His shoes and socks go in the bottom of the locker. His slacks, vest, shirt, tie, and suit jacket all go on the hanger. He puts on a pair of gray, cotton shorts and a black tank top along with white socks and a pair of sneakers. He gives Mike a single nod as he leaves the locker room. 

Mike sighs in relief once Carisi's out the door. Carisi's read his mood perfectly. They can share the gym, but they don't have to talk. He can work with that. 

He tapes his other hand and walks out to the gym with his gloves in his right hand. As much as he wants to beat the shit out of the heavy bag, he knows he needs to stretch properly before he gets going. Carisi's halfway across the room, standing on a mat in front of the wall of mirrors. He's doing yoga, curled into child's pose. As Mike watches, he shifts easily into downward dog.

Mike turns away and stretches his back and sides. When he reaches down to touch his toes, he can't help but see Carisi again. He's in a low lunge, arms out straight from his shoulders. He has his eyes closed, and Mike wonders if it helps him concentrate or if he doesn't want to see himself in the mirror. 

He can't imagine what Carisi wouldn't want to see. He's a great cop--one of the best Mike's ever worked with--and he was especially on it today. He'd even talked to Mike as he'd slipped on the EMT uniform and given him a couple of pointers so he didn't look quite so intimidating walking into the house. 

"Drop your shoulders," Carisi had said, "and walk kinda closer to the bottom of your spine."

"The bottom of my spine?" Mike had asked. "What's that even mean?"

"Your posture is ridiculous," Carisi had explained. "You walk like you were in the Army."

"I was."

"Yeah, but so was that guy in that house, and if he sees you walking military, he's gonna think you're a plant."

"Plenty of EMTs were in the military."

"I know, but it's not about if they were or if they weren't. It's about keeping him from asking questions. If he knows one more fact about being a medic than you, you're fucked."

Mike had thought Sonny was over-reacting, but then he'd found himself stripping down on the street in the cold, and then his vest was taken from him, and walking out of the house again felt like the closest call he'd had in his entire life. 

He finishes his toe touches and straps on his gloves. He can't help but glance over at Carisi again, and he catches Carisi glancing back. He holds the eye contact for a moment, then puts his focus on the heavy bag.

It's easy to lose himself in the bag; it always has been. The sound and pressure of hitting it; the way his feet need to move to stay on his toes; the concentration to mix up his punch pattern so his opponent can't block as effectively. 

He punches and feints and punches again, working around the bag like he would an opponent in the ring. As he circles around the back and moves in close to aim for the ribs, he spots Carisi again. He's still facing the mirror, but now he's jumping rope. His body is one, long line, and Mike catches his gaze in the mirror. He lands a few more hits without looking away, then puts his concentration back on his own workout. 

Carisi looks at him a lot, Mike thinks as he keeps his feet moving. He's noticed it since the first day they worked together. He'd assumed Carisi was sizing him up, and he'd let it roll off his back. The squad is tight-knit, trying to get his measure isn't a surprise. But Carisi has kept looking even as they've worked together, even as they've started to build a friendship. Mike's met his gaze a few times, wondering if Carisi will explain, but Carisi only looks him in the eyes for a moment before looking away. 

Mike cuts another glance towards Carisi as he feels sweat start to trickle down his back. Carisi's still jumping rope, and he's still watching Mike. Mike tosses his head back to get his hair out of his face, and he sees something spark in Carisi's eyes. Mike goes back to the bag, wondering if that spark is an open offer or a one-time thing. He thinks he's up for either, but he also knows he shouldn't be making any rash decisions right now. Not when he's still so angry.

He fights the bag until his tank top is soaked in sweat and his calves start to ache. Through his workout, he's watched Carisi switch from the jump rope, to the dumbells, then the treadmill, and finally to doing push-ups in front of the mirror. Mike watches him move as he takes off his gloves. Carisi's looking at the floor, his whole body in perfect alignment as he pushes up, then lowers down, over and over again. 

Mike puts his gloves on the bench next to the heavy bag and walks over to Carisi. He watches the way his back and shoulders flex as he moves. There's more muscle on him than Mike expected. He's so lean it looks like he's carrying nothing at all, but up close and in motion, Mike follows the line of his biceps, and then traces the shape of his calves and thighs. 

"You're staring," Carisi says, not breaking his rhythm. 

Mike snorts and drops into a runner's stretch. "You started it."

Carisi doesn't answer, just keeps doing push-ups. Mike stays next to him, stretching his calves, then his arms, then sitting with his feet pulled in, soles touching, so he can stretch his back and sides. Carisi finishes his push-ups and rolls onto his back, watching Mike move and saying nothing. 

"Now who's staring?" Mike asks.

Carisi grins. "There's a lot to stare at." He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back. It pops, and he sighs as he lies flat again.

Mike reaches out without thinking, fingertips ghosting the edge of Carisi's waistband where a tiny sliver of skin is showing. Carisi lifts his hips so Mike's touch is firmer. Mike lets himself be reckless and slides his hand up Carisi's shirt, splaying his fingers across Carisi's stomach. 

"You doing okay?" Carisi asks. 

Mike shrugs. "I don't know," he answers honestly. He shifts so he's lying on his side, head propped up on his free hand. He looks down at Carisi, who watches him with patience. "Why do you look at me?"

"You're nice to look at," Carisi says. He tucks his arms behind his head. "And you don't seem like you have a problem with it."

Mike taps his fingers on Carisi's stomach and smiles at the way it makes him squirm. "Why do you look at me?" he asks again.

Carisi takes one arm out from behind his head and slides his hand from Mike's shoulder to his bicep. "Because I like looking at you," he says as he skims from Mike's bicep to his elbow. He follows the tendon on Mike's arm with his thumb, stopping at the bottom of Mike's wrist right before it disappears under his shirt. "Because sometimes you look at me, too."

Mike breathes in deep. "I like looking at you," he says. "I like you."

Carisi smiles at him. It's softer than his usual smile. "I like you, too."

Mike leans in a little, looking at the curve of Carisi's mouth. "I'm your sergeant," he says. 

"Yeah," Carisi agrees. "But you don't have to be right now."

Mike meets his eyes again. "I don't know what that means," he says. 

Carisi chuckles. He lifts his hand from Mike's wrist and touches Mike gently on the neck. "It means whatever's about to happen, for however long it happens, I'm not gonna disrespect you on the clock if something's happened off of it."

Mike wants to believe him. He wants to dip his head and kiss him. He slides his hand under Sonny's shirt so he can wrap his fingers around Sonny's waist. "You can't say that and be sure of it."

"I can try," Carisi says, and it's so honest, Mike gives in and leans down.

It's a soft kiss. Carisi lets Mike set the pace, only sliding his hand from Mike's neck to the back of his head to bring him in that tiny bit closer. When Mike opens his mouth, he touches Carisi's bottom lip with his tongue. Carisi opens to meet him, licking his own lip where Mike had just touched it. Mike slides his tongue against Carisi's and gasps at how good it feels, deepening the kiss without meaning to, but Carisi encourages him by lifting his other hand and grabbing Mike by the arm, tugging until Mike has to pull away and rearrange himself with his forearms on either side of Carisi's head, their chests pressed together as they kiss again. 

"Sonny," Mike whispers against Carisi's mouth, and he shivers at the sound of it. He's never called him anything but 'Carisi,' but right now, he simply can't. It's Sonny who's underneath him, eyes closed, hands hot on Mike's body. Sonny who tilts up his chin at the sound of his name and sighs out, 'Mike' so quietly that Mike almost misses it.

Mike kisses him again, applying more pressure, lifting one arm so he can reach down and ruck up Sonny's shirt and touch his ribs and his breastbone and feel his heart beat against his hand. When he pulls back this time, Sonny tries to follow, keeping the kiss going until he simply can't lift his head any higher. Mike catches sight of them in the mirror, and the reality of what they're doing hits him. 

"Easy," Sonny says, letting go of Mike's biceps so he can run his hands up and down Mike's arms. "It's okay."

"Someone could walk in," Mike replies as he pushes himself off of Sonny and flops inelegantly to one side.

"They didn't," Sonny says, still calm. He stares at Mike's mouth, and then he laughs, a quick, bright sound. "Although, yeah, someone could have."

Mike's own laugh surprises him. It sounds happy and light. He shakes his head and runs his hands through his sweaty hair. "I shouldn't have done that."

Sonny licks his lips, eyes going wary. "Which one? Kissing me in the middle of the gym or kissing me at all?"

"The first one," Mike says quickly. He reaches out without thinking, and Sonny meets him halfway. They clasp hands, and Mike stares at them, notices how much broader his hand is compared to Sonny's. "Only the first one," he says.

Sonny ducks into his line of vision and brushes their noses together. "I've had a crush on you since day one," he says. "It was all about your pecs at first, but the rest of you is pretty good, too."

Mike laughs again, less surprised this time. "Wow. I feel flattered."

"Your butt's really nice," Sonny says, all guileless sincerity that Mike sees straight through. They laugh together this time.

Mike stands and pulls Sonny up with him. He pushes Sonny's hair off his forehead and looks into his eyes. "I like everything I know about you," he says. "Today's been a fucking nightmare, but I ended up liking you even more, and I don't know how else to say that."

Sonny smiles at him. "It happens on this job," he says. "It was absolutely a fucking nightmare, but you didn't get shot by that asshole, and now he's dead." Sonny takes a small step forward. He touches Mike's chest, then clenches his hand in Mike's tank top. "I was scared when you were inside," he says. "I was worried something would happen, and I wouldn't get the chance to tell you how much I like you."

Mike shivers at the affection in his voice. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Mike takes a deep breath. "I don't need a bar fight tonight, but how about we grab dinner and talk?"

Sonny beams, and the last of Mike's anger at the day flows away. "I'd like that," Sonny says. "Let's do it."

"Okay," Mike agrees. "Let's make this day worth it."

"Already is, if you ask me," Sonny replies, giving Mike a quick peck on the mouth. 

Mike can't help but steal a kiss of his own, the way he feels almost overwhelming as Sonny smiles against his mouth. The day already is worth it, Mike agrees silently. But there's no reason not to try for even better.

**Author's Note:**

> Wait. I wrote a story of the two of them that DIDN'T become a longfic? OH THANK GOD.


End file.
